Karma Consequential
by goldsworthys
Summary: He's snarky and super annoying, but somehow always right and a damn good author. She's a powerhouse who hates liars and gives in too easily. After waking up next to her afternoon interview, Clare Edwards starts to realize that she's not as professional as she always thought she was. { futuristic / AU }
1. morning

**A/N: **Hi everyone, long time no see. In all honesty, I have not written a damn thing in months and this is from ages ago, but I'm trying to get myself to do something author-y related. I'm a senior in high school right now, and currently in charge of a company for one of my classes, so I've been too busy to really even step in front of a computer. But I figured I'd post this, seeing as I have a few chapters of this. If you all really like it and give me lots of reviews/follows, I'll do my best to be online more often and updating. I dunno. In all honesty, I don't even know what the hell is going on on Degrassi anymore, but my heart still cries out for this pairing, so, here I am writing about it. All right, that's enough banter from me. Please enjoy this, love you all very much and hope you're having a super cool November. (P.S - two year anniversary of Celestica coming up? what the fuck, right?)

**Rating:** Rated M because smut is cool and swearing is awesome.

**Disclaimer:** I'm glad I don't own Degrassi because then a lot of people would hate me!

**Summary:** He's snarky and super annoying, but somehow always right and a damn good author. She's a powerhouse who hates liars and gives in too easily. After waking up next to her afternoon interview, Clare Edwards starts to realize that she's not as professional as she always thought she was.

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><p>When he opened his eyes, he wasn't really sure where he was. Maybe he was back at her apartment, or maybe she even bought them a hotel room? Well, he was sure <em>he <em>hadn't purchased a hotel room. Because why in the world would he spend a bunch of money on a girl he had only met last night? He sat up lazily, rolling his shoulders back in a slow motion, a few groggy grunts slipping out of his mouth as he awoke from such a precious slumber. He didn't bother to look at the woman lying beside him because if he were being honest, he couldn't care less about her. It was a one night stand; why talk to her and make it into anything more? He tossed the blankets off of his legs, shifted off the bed, and stood to his feet. Where the fuck were his clothes, again?

That's when she opened her eyes. After hearing his morning noises and the sound of his feet hitting the cold wood floor, her eyelids fluttered open, exposing big blue eyes eager with interest. She too, sat up in a tired manor. The pulse of last night's drinking hit her like a gong, making her have to blink several times to shake off the dizzy feeling. She rubbed her eyes, and pulled on the blanket of the bed, covering her exposed chest. The man standing on the other side of the bed grumpily wandered around, searching for his clothes that were hiding away in the bathroom. The fun had all started there the night before, or at least that's what she remembered?

He was definitely gorgeous. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen a man so miraculously chiseled by God. His muscles continued to tense when he'd stretch his arms and she couldn't deny how beautiful he was. Or maybe it was just because she was still tired and the room was still blurry and she was a little bit dizzy. Yeah, it was probably that.

He finally stumbled into the bathroom, cheering silently with a small bit of a fist pump to himself at the find of his clothes. Putting on his boxers and socks and jeans and belt, he failed to notice the little lady wandering out of the bed and shuffling through one of the drawers, pulling a very large shirt out of the third drawer from the top and slipping it over her head. It was like she had shirts planned just for one-night-stands. Except, Clare Edwards didn't do one night stands. So this couldn't be one of those. This had to be something like… forever.

"Hey," She said softly, showing up in the bathroom beside him.

Shit. There went his cover.

"Uh, hey."

She ran her hands through her messy curly hair and cracked a half smile at him in the mirror. She really didn't have any effort to turn her head and stare at him. He decided to play along with her little morning routine as she picked up her toothbrush and squeezed out a slab of toothpaste. He turned on the water from the faucet just adjacent to hers. Man, this place was fancy. He collected a handful of water, and brought it up to his face, splashing him all over to wake him up. Oh, and now the water was making his hair stick to his face – causing him to look just a little sexier than before. She tried not to stare at him awkwardly in awe with her toothbrush hanging obscurely out of her mouth.

"So," She began, still all toothbrushy, "what do you do for a living, um…" She paused, trying to recollect the memories she had seemed to forget from the night before. One of them being his name? "Eli? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's your name, right?"

"Yep." He answered flatly, staring at himself miserably in the mirror. He had hoped to make a hasty exit and never come across her again – no matter how good or how not good she had been in the sack the night before. "Yep, Penny, my name is Eli."

"Oh, my name's not actually Penny." She spat into the sink and began brushing again. "It's Clare. Penny is my pen-name."

For a moment, he appeared interested. He wasn't really. "Oh? Are you an author?"

"Nope. Journalist." She spat one more time before brushing her tongue this time around. "So are you going to tell me what you do for a living or not?"

Ugh, personal lives. Here came all of the backstories and the reasons as to why he dressed so distastefully and why he almost never combed his hair. He rubbed his nose slightly and shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. I'm an author." Hoping to get the conversation off of himself, he threw more questions back at her. "What kind of journalist? For what paper?"

"New York Times."

Woah, okay, he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting some sort of rinky-dink paper on the side of nowhere that he'd never heard of. But okay, this girl was the real deal. He tried to play it off as if he really didn't give two shits about her big shot New York Times life, but he was intrigued a little bit.

"I write book reviews. You know how on the back of novels it'll say things like: _Inspiring. A new-age American Classic. The author instigates personal experience and a clever, self-deteriorating tone. A must read. _Yeah, that's what I do."

"And what did you say your name was again?" Eli asked.

"Penny Hastings is my pen-name; Clare Edwards is my real name. I just always enjoyed the name Penny growing up."

He pretends he cares, but he really doesn't. "So, Penny-Clare," He joked, flashing her a lopsided smirk that he rarely ever used for people he didn't know very well. "Is this your place? It's pretty nice." He figured. They had already sparked some kind of conversation – so he'd ought to keep it all going. And the more that he could keep the conversation off of himself the better.

"Oh, God, no." Clare laughed. She leaned over the sink to gather some water in her mouth from the faucet, rinsing and spitting into the sink. "I live in New York. I'm only in Toronto on a trip to interview this author. My boss put me in this hotel, and yeah, it is pretty nice."

Eli peeled back the curtain of the small bathtub and groaned, finding his nice dress shirt waded up in a soaking wet ball on the floor of the tub. He picked it up to ring it out, carelessly dripping water all over the bathroom floor. "So who's the guy you're interviewing?" He asked, not really that interested. But hey, maybe he knew the author she was referring to. Being a writer himself, he had a bit of a relationship with some of the other people in the Toronto area. Maybe one of his 'friends' (he preferred to use the term friends lightly. No one was really his _friend_) were becoming a New York Times bestseller.

"His names Casper Callahan." Clare said casually. Eli suddenly dropped the sopping wet shirt. Oh. Shit. "He wrote this novel, _Stalker Angel. _I'm more than halfway through and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't extremely gruesome and completely horrific. I'd say a mixture of Chuck Palahniuk and Stephen King. It's really… really fantastic."

Everything changed now – it wasn't just some girl he wanted to avoid and get away from. This was bigger than big. This could make him well known – this could change his entire career! Eli ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks starting to turn red like a tomato.

"Do you really think so?" He asked. "I mean, I don't think I would ever compare it to Stephen King but… if you say so, I mean… I mean, thanks! Shit, this is embarrassing; I'm getting all worked up over it." Eli was grinning like an idiot – and Clare just stood there completely confused.

"Wait, what?" She pinned her eyebrows together.

"I'm Casper Callahan!" Eli said excitedly. Clare's mouth fell open. No, no – this couldn't be happening. "I wrote _Stalker Angel_!"

"You told me your name was Eli!" She screeched.

"It is Eli!" He didn't understand – why did she seem upset? "You told me your name was Penny." He pointed out.

"Yeah! Because I was at a work related event!" In a flustered manor, she turned on her heels, heading back towards the bed. She picked up the telephone that was sitting on the nightstand, and quickly punched in some numbers. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Wait, what's happening?" Eli questioned, following behind her. "Who are you calling?"

"My boss!" Clare huffed, putting the phone up to her ear, balancing it between her head and her shoulder. "I can't do the interview now, this completely compromises my review. Hi – um, can I speak to Mr. Coyne?"

Eli quickly pressed button on the receiver of the phone to end the call. Clare glared up at him. "No, come on, Clare, Penny, whatever your fuckin' name is – you can't _not _do the review. I need this! My book needs this! My whole fucking career needs this, Penny-Clare."

"But I slept with you – I'll feel obligated to make you sound like some sort of writing god of some sort. Like I'm comparing your writing to your sex."

Eli smirked, "So you're saying I'm a sex god?"

Clare groaned, throwing the phone back onto the bed. She stood up to pace around the room, because that's what she did when she was nervous – she paced like hell. "This is ridiculous – I can't do the interview. I'll have to call someone in to do it for me."

"Come on!" Eli shouted. "Please!"

She shook her head. "This is totally against like, everything I believe in."

"It's not my fault we had a one-night-stand. You came on to me, anyway!"

Had she? She didn't really remember.

"And how was I supposed to know you were going to interview me? Hell, I didn't even know I was _being _interviewed for _Stalker Angel_ in the first place!" Eli continued, following behind her as she paced around the room. They looked quite awkward, her pacing ridiculously and him following along like this would change her mind.

"What?" Clare stopped her pacing, causing Eli to bump into her from behind, the two of them stumbling forward to a stop. "What do you mean you didn't know about the interview? I talked to your publicist four or five times. She assured me that the meeting would take place at _Pizza Leslie_ at three and that you would be on your best behavior, which at first I was a little confused about but now I _definitely _know what she meant."

Eli smirked. He was somewhat offended that she would say something like that, and yet also utterly amused at her frantic composure. But now he wasn't surprised at all that he hadn't heard about this interview. His publicist was fucking insane.

Imogen Moreno had known Eli Goldsworthy before his book had even been published. Probably before he had even thought about writing it, but we're not so sure about that part. She found him while stumbling across the internet for poetry, falling in love with a blog titled _Scars and Stories _(which, in case you didn't know, is a _Fall Out Boy_ lyric. Imogen Moreno was one of few to notice this). Imogen just so happened to work for a publishing company called _Harlequin Enterprises… _which was consumed with mostly teenage vampire fanfiction and on some occasions, good authors with _really _good novels. This was how Eli Goldsworthy became 'discovered.'

The only thing was, Imogen (who became his publicist and called him every two and a half hours to "make sure he was getting his work done") had developed a sort of 'crush' on the young author. His poetry ran on loop through her head. And this was when Eli Goldsworthy realized you do not hire someone that is a fan of your work. In fact, hire someone that hates your work –motivation to get something better out.

The reason why Imogen hadn't alerted Eli of his interview was for three reasons. One: this 'Penny Hastings' girl seemed a little bit too good to be true. She couldn't risk her precious Eli – er, her precious _Casper_ getting his name put out badly. Two: Imogen liked to maintain some sort of illusion that Casper Callahan never actually appeared in public. It was bullshit, and Eli thought so as well. Three: she had honestly just forgotten.

"Well," Eli shrugged his shoulders, unfazed by the fact that his publicist had nearly sabotaged a meeting that could change his entire career, "Miss Moreno sometimes fucks things up. It's a good thing we ran into each other now so we can actually _do _this meeting."

Clare huffed. "Have I not made it clear to you yet that I _cannot do your interview_."

"_CLARE!_" he shouted, an undeniably annoying pleading tone in his voice.

"Eli, I can't! As much as I wanted to yesterday, I can't."

"And you don't _want _tonow?"

"Well not really!" Clare threw her hands up into the air. Eli placed a hand on her shoulder to spin her around, her only reaction being to shove his hand off of herself protectively. "I had sex with you, Eli, and now if I'm going to write a review for your novel it'll be a little bit difficult to do while I'll be thinking about you shirtless, or something. And you not wearing a shirt right now isn't helping at all, either."

"We'll just keep it between us, okay? The sex, I mean." Eli tried to reason with her. "We'll keep things strictly professional from here on out. No random sex at random work related events. I swear I won't fuck this up, especially when I need it so badly."

Clare Edwards longing for professionalism had really only sprung up a few weeks ago after an incident in the office. Her boss was devilishly handsome, quick on his feet and had such a fantastic way with words; it was hard not to fall for him. Hell, almost every girl in the office a_nd _out of the office would kill to get a slice of Declan Coyne. It honestly wasn't her fault. In fact, he'd been the one flirting with her non-stop at the water cooler every day. He'd be the one inviting her into his office to discuss things _privately, _hinting at her as subtly as possible that he'd like to get her out of her work clothes and do her on his desk immediately. She'd tried to make a move and – it'd backfired.

_"Miss Edwards, this is completely out of line."_

_ "What? I thought –"_

_Declan shook his head, biting down on his lip. "Things between us are strictly professional, Miss Edwards. I thought you were aware of this. I can't have any of this here at the Times. We must stay focused on our work, not have petty office affairs. Besides, I don't even find you attractive."_

_ "Declan –"_

_ "It's Mr. Coyne."_

_ "Mr. Coyne… You've been the one flirting with me. It's out of line for you to turn me down like this."_

_Letting out a sharp breath, he turned away from her to sit back down in his desk chair. "I am your boss. Get back to work or else I'll have to give you a citation." _

_She stared blankly at him, his usually very beautiful eyes starting to look unappealing as she kept looking. "I'm sorry." Clare muttered, trying not to seem too hurt by his rejecting her after all this time. "This won't happen again."_

Clare sighed, looking up from the ground at Eli. She finally gave in, nodding very slowly and shrugging her shoulders in defeat. Eli clapped his hands graciously, not really meaning to, but pulling the girl in for a hug.

"Aw, thanks, Clare!" He said excitedly, letting go of the hug after noticing she'd stiffened up at the first touch. "Sorry. No hugs either, got it."

"You should probably get going. Our meeting is supposed to be at three." Clare warned him, pointing a finger in his direction. The darker haired man held his hands up in defense, then pointing to the bathroom.

"I have nothing to wear, my shirts all wet from last night's festivities." He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly trying to make a joke now that the mood was lighter since she'd agreed to interview him. Clare glared his way, and Eli laughed, quickly scampering off into the bathroom to take care of his shirt. "You know," he said loudly from the bathroom, "I technically have no idea about this interview. Imogen hasn't even told me about it."

"Imogen?" Clare furrowed her eyebrows. "Right, your publicist."

Eli twirled the dress shirt up, ringing up all the water he could in the tub. "I mean, I could call her myself and tell her I found out about it, but then she'll wonder how, and then she'll go batshit crazy."

"Why?"

He peeked his head out the door at Clare who had been changing, sliding on a pair of dark blue lacy underwear. "Well, see, Immy's kind of in love with me." He mentioned. Getting over himself, he finally put the wet shirt on, shivering slightly at how cold it was.

"I'll call her." Clare said, kneeling down onto the ground and pulling out a suitcase underneath her bed. She pulled out a very professional looking forest green dress. She didn't bother to turn around and change as Eli stood before her, quickly pulling off the large t-shirt she'd been wearing and daintily putting her arms through the straps of a very sexy black bra. Eli cocked an eyebrow. "What?" Clare put her hands on her hips after adjusting the clasp in the back. "Are you in middle school? Have you never seen a girl change before?"

"No – I have. It's just…"

He didn't really have any excuses as to why he'd been staring like she'd just done something totally illegal. Clare rolled her eyes, stepping into the green dress and then pulling her curls into a bun and turning around. "Zip me up." She'd ordered, and Eli obliged, stepping forward and pulling up the zipper on Clare's dress. "Okay, I'll call your publicist right now. Just wait here so I can make sure she calls and lets you know."

Eli nodded as she pulled out her cell phone and started to go through her recent calls, finding Imogen's number and then holding the phone up to her ear. He watched as she balanced it between her ear and shoulder so she could multitask and put some brown tights on.

"Hi, am I speaking to Imogen Moreno?" Clare started, sounding awfully cheery while she did. "It's Penny Hastings from the Times. I just wanted to make sure my interview with Mr. Callahan is still at three today?" She suddenly stopped sliding her right foot into the tights and an _ummm _noise fell from her lips. "What do you mean he's _busy?_" Clare eyed Eli strangely, and he shrugged his shoulders. "You told me he'd be ready for this interview. What could possibly be more important than an interview with the New York Times? An interview with the queen?"

She squirmed a little to get into her tights and scoffed into her cell phone. "You're bullshitting me, right? Because I'm standing right in front of him."

Eli's eyes went wide, but a loud laugh emerged from his lips since he actually didn't give two shits about Imogen. "Oh, you don't believe me? Do you want to talk to him?" Without much of a warning, Clare tossed the phone his way, it hitting his chest as he scrambled to catch it.

"Are you trying to throw away my career?!" Eli barked into the phone, giving Clare a very devious smirk as he did so. "You didn't even tell me about this fucking meeting, do you have a reason for that?"

"_Eli, I –"_

"That is Mr. Callahan to you, Moreno. This would be the first influential interview to my writing career and you're trying to screw it up? God, do you know how many publicists I have lining up behind your ass?" Eli quickly pulled the phone away from his ear, covering up the mouthpiece and giving Clare a cheeky look. "Zero." He said quietly.

"_I'm so, so, sorry Mr. Callahan. It won't happen ever again, I swear. I messed up, please don't fire me. Who else loves your work as much as I do?! I always have, please. Please."_

Eli rolled his eyes, trying to stay in character on the phone as much as he possibly could. "I'm not going to fire you. But you're on serious probation, Moreno. It's a 'three strikes you're out', kind of deal. And this _should _constitute for two strikes."

She watched as he tapped her screen, ending the call. "Yeah, so, took care of that."

"Casper Callahan seems like a real dick." Clare smirked, picking up two or three bracelets off of her makeshift dresser and slipping them onto her left wrist, and clasping a watch onto her right. "Can't wait to meet with him at three." He can tell that she's actually being one hundred percent sarcastic and he doesn't care at all.

"If he even shows up," Eli continued, "I heard he's never seen in public. Or at least, that's what his publicist says. But she's a real bitch too. They go hand in hand."

Clare ignored his remark, being finished with the whole conversation. She had a headache, and Eli wasn't really helping. "My purse is on the dresser." She told him as she walked into the bathroom, unscrewing a cap of travel sized concealer. "Get my Advil. One is okay, but two is ideal."

"A _please _is what really is ideal here." Eli joked even though he was still doing as she'd asked.

"Oh, fuck off. I'm so hung over." Clare admitted. She wasn't a fan of appearing weak in front of anyone. It might have been when she'd been rejected by Declan that made her want to be stronger. He'd seen her look so desperate, _pathetic, _and she hated it. Loathed it. She had something to prove now. She was putting on a thin line of eyeliner when he dropped three pills into her hand.

"Three for good luck."

"I don't take three. Not risking it." She dry-swallowed two of the pills. "It's recommended to only take two."

Eli laughed. "So? It's not like it's going to kill you."

"So I'm not risking anything." Last thing she did, right after pinning back the right side of her curls was coat her lips in the perfect shade of pink lip stick. He was watching while she did it, too. Kind of like he'd been watching the night before, but it was different this time. And he also didn't remember how he'd watched her last night. Noticing his staring, she raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason why you're still here? I feel like you could go now. I don't have to see you for," she glanced down at her watch, having to squint as she saw double. "…for five more hours. Besides, I have to get my morning bagel and call my boss to give him a recap on last night." She groaned at that and added: "Would rather off myself."

Nodding, Eli scrambled around the hotel room for his cell phone. "_Pizza Leslie_ at three, right?" He clarified, to which she replied _mmmhmm… _from the bathroom. "Okay, I'll be there. Probably on time. Maybe fashionably late."

"Okay," Clare mumbled, the Advil starting to sink in, but not enough for her to feel significantly better. "See you at three."

The hotel room door shut and she was alone again. She hit the floor a lot slower than she thought she would, taking a seat against the cold bathroom floor and feeling too many waves of emotions flowing over her. It wasn't like her to forget so much of the night before and it _definitely_ wasn't like her not to hold her liquor. She'd tried so hard to maintain a professional, strong composure in front of Eli that her chest ached. He'd seen her weak last night, unless it had been erased from his memory. But she didn't see him have too much to drink.

Clare wished she could remember bits and pieces. Some of her even wished she could remember _at least_ just the sex, if anything. Was it good? Could he have possibly been good? He was good looking, and funny-ish. He could have been good at sex if he wanted to be. If he had been terrible, his writing made up for anything remotely bad. The way _Stalker Angel_ had taken her by surprise was nearly as good as sex… sex she so deeply desired from her boss.

Oh, right. Declan.

She had to call him.

Reaching her arm out, she grabbed for her cell phone which was conveniently left on the ground nearby, she dialed her boss's number, hoping to be able to appear strong. Or at least not hung over. Anything but weak was good.

"It's Clare." She said punctually. "So, these are the awards given out last night."


	2. afternoon

**A/N:** You're welcome friends on tumblr, here's the next chapter. I'm happy with most of it and that's all that matters! Hope you're all having a nice week and when winter break comes around you have a great time off school! I don't have a lot to talk about, but thank you for all your reviews. I love each and every one of you and love hearing what you have to say. ily

**Disclaimer**: I don't own a lot of stuff but I own a really cool jean jacket from American Apparel !

**Summary**: He's snarky and super annoying, but somehow always right and a damn good author. She's a powerhouse who hates liars and gives in too easily. After waking up next to her afternoon interview, Clare Edwards starts to realize that she's not as professional as she always thought she was.

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><p><em>"So… how much have you had to drink?" He asked, leaning against the bar while the woman in front of him twirled her fingers through her curls clumsily. He could tell she was probably on the road to getting hammered. He had watched her have a couple glasses of champagne while wandering around the event, and now here she was, hunched over on a bar stool sipping on some wine and demanding for a shot of tequila. <em>

_ "Well, Eli Goldsworthy," She began sloppily, holding the glass in between her fingers all lazy-like. He'd introduced himself just a few moments before. "This is probably my fourth. Or fifth. But that shot –" she pointed at the bartender who was pouring it for her, "– that is going to be my sixth."_

_He was so interested in this girl for some reason. She'd seemed so gloomy during the dinner portion of the event, and during the speeches it seemed as though she was going to pop from being so angry. He had decided not to ask what was on her mind just yet, only wondering at first what her name could even be. "So are you going to tell me your name yet?"_

_ "Penny Haaaaastings." She exaggerated, like her name was something so important. "And I'm drinking because my boss is a total jerkoff." She spat. Her drink arrived, and she put her glass down and in two quick moves and one seriously grossed out facial expression, she'd downed her tequila and frowned. "I'm out here in Toronto to interview this guy, and my douchebag of a boss thinks, hey, why not sent her to this bullshitty event so that I don't have to go? Here I am! Here I am using the company credit card to buy myself a drink."_

_ "It's an open bar," Eli laughed, leaning over towards the bartender and requesting a couple shots for himself. "So, what did your boss do to get you to speak so poorly of him?" He asked finally, earning an exasperated groan from the girl as she picked up her glass of wine again and took a long sip._

_ "Fucking prick," she went on, waving the glass about in the air. She was lucky it was nearly empty or else she may have spilled it all over her cream colored dress. "Spent months – months! Flirting with me, touching me in the office, hinting at rather inappropriate things that bosses aren't supposed to be hinting at, and then – and then! He has the nerve to turn me down when I finally attempt to make a move. Jerk, jerk, jerk." She murmured. Eli pursed his lips. _

_ "Total jerk." He agreed, still a little lost as the girl tried to explain. _

_ "So yeah, I totally threw myself at my boss really late one night, and it totally backfired. He was like I don't find you attractive and I'm going to have to give you a citation if this happens again! Like, fuck off…" She downed the last bit of her wine, sliding the glass away from her and sighing deeply. She began waving at the bartender until Eli grabbed her hand, shaking his head._

_ "Don't drink too much. When I leave, someone could take advantage of you." Eli mentioned, taking his drink and feeling the sting down the back of his tongue. _

_ "Oh please, I don't even care anymore. I want to have loads of sex tonight. I want this entire retreat to be me having sex just so I can forget about my stupid boss who I invested so many feelings into." The curly haired girl went on, waving her empty hands around in the air now for enunciation. "I want to screw so many men this trip. Skinny guys, muscly guys, tall guys, short guys – anything I can get my hands on. And then I'm going to write all about it in a huge novel with the title: Screw bosses and screw his employees! – Assuming everyone here works for him. Well, mostly everyone works for his ass." _

_ "Look, Penny, I get that you're pissed at him and all, but do you really think sleeping with everyone is going to fix everything?" Eli tried to reason, earning a very annoyed groan from the girl in the seat across from him. _

_ "It's not about fixing things. It's about getting back at him."_

_ "He probably won't even find out."_

_ "Oh, he'll find out!" Penny exclaimed, wagging her finger at him. "I'll make sure he finds out and he'll be so jealous and enraged he'll pick me up in his arms and beg for me to get on top of him and ride him like a rollercoaster." Her glassy eyes were so bright and excited that Eli couldn't help but be wrapped up in the way she was speaking. Maybe it was because he'd had some to drink, too. It was on the tip of his tongue for him to offer to take her to bed, to be the first of her long list of men to screw, but for some reason he felt it wrong to suggest it. _

_ "Well, there are lots of men at this party." Eli gestured towards the men all scattered around. "You just have to pick a couple and take them home."_

_ "I already have my eyes on a few." She said, her voice suddenly becoming lower. Eli raised an eyebrow as he noticed her looking right at him, a very sultry smile finding its way on her lips. "One of them in particular is in this room right now."_

_Playing dumb, Eli looked around, throwing his thumb over to where the restrooms were. "I bet it's the guy with the glasses stalking around the ladies room." She cutely pushed on his shoulder._

_ "Not exactly, Eli Goldsworthy. I was thinking someone more along the lines of –" His eyes were focused in on her lips as she uttered the last word in her sexy little sentence. "—you."_

_ "What makes you think I'd want to sleep with you, Hastings?" Eli cocked his head to the side as the girl in front of him rolled her eyes._

_ "As if you weren't staring at me during every single speech tonight. There wasn't a moment where I looked over and you weren't ogling me ridiculously." _

_Unfortunately she was totally right. He'd been staring but it was only because she was the only one at the event not wearing something black or gray and she seemed to be having the worst time ever. Eli looked over his shoulder, grabbing the attention of the bartender and nodding to him, instructing that he'd take one more of what he'd just had._

_ "So how about I have one more drink, and then you take me back to your place, Hastings?" Eli smirked her way, and the girl shrugged a shoulder casually and nodded._

_ "Okay. But I have to let you know that I don't actually have a place. I'm staying in this hotel." She informed him, but Eli honestly didn't give a shit. _

_ "Oh, really?" He let her go on as he waited for his drink. "Where do you live?"_

_ "New York. Like I said, I'm only here for this event and to interview a guy."_

_The drink was placed in front of him, and he quickly downed the shot, ready to go back up into her room and undress her out of the dress that fit her probably a little too nicely. "New York?" He got up off the stool and picked up his jacket from around the back of the chair. "Wait, who is your boss?"_

_ "Don't!" Penny squeaked, hopping off as well and pointing a finger at him. "Don't mention him at all or I'm going to go absolutely batshit!" She freaked. Eli chuckled, nodding. "Now let's just get upstairs so I can do the fuck out of you."_

...

So, the interview. She was back in the Penny Hastings mentality, leaving Clare Edwards back at the hotel. It was three-twelve now, and Eli – or, Casper… wasn't here yet. She was getting pissed off, actually. He'd seemed so eager in the hotel room that morning, and now, here she was, waiting alone at a restaurant having her water glass refilled and refilled as she waited for him.

"Sorry." A voice grumbled as the young man slouched into the chair across from her. "Couldn't find this place."

Clare raised an eyebrow. "Jesus, haven't you lived here like, forever?" She asked. He nodded, picking up his glass of iceless water. It had melted before he'd gotten a chance to show up.

"I don't come over here. I go to the east side of Toronto. This is the west side."

"East side, west side, I don't care. Let's get this show on the road –"

"I don't get to order first? Ouch, Clare." Eli interrupted. She shook her head.

"It's Penny, here, Casper. This is business related. You bothered me so much about this meeting this morning, so show me that you want it."

"_Penny, Penny…" His hot breath poured out her name into her ear. She was giggling, kind of outrageously but it was mostly because she was drunk off her ass and the way that Eli's hands tickled her bare hips made her jumpy. "Get on the bed."_

_ "Do you want me?" She purred, inching away from him and tossing herself back on the white bedspread. "Do you want me, Eli? Show me that you want me."_

_He raced to unbuckle his jeans, trying to watch her take off her skinny black thong even though his hands fumbled with the zipper on his own jeans. "Fuck." Eli muttered, losing his jeans and boxers and taking his cock in his hand. "Want you so bad, Penny. Wanna fucking nail you." _

Flashbacks were hitting her as she looked him in the face, remnants of a five o'clock shadow all over his chin and jawline. He was more poetic in his writing, she thought, than in his bedroom talk. She wished she wasn't remembering the bits and pieces of their hot night right now. Why not earlier? Or at least later, when she wasn't in public, having to rub her legs together and think about old people to not get all flustered in a pizza place.

"I don't think it really matters what I call you," Eli went on, turning pages through the menu. "No one here can hear me talking to you and even if they did, they wouldn't give a shit."

Clare scoffed. "I give a shit."

"Ooh, congratulations, _Hastings_…" Eli rolled his eyes. "You are the only person in the entire Toronto area that gives a shit."

Annoyed as hell, she ran a hand through her curls. "Order whatever you want," She said, giving up. "I've got the company credit card. Just be quick about it, because I have other shit to take care of."

She didn't; not really.

The fact was, he was being a total ass, but she kind of enjoyed it. In a strange way, like how being around him and his childish attitude made her feel superior. But then when she thought back to the way he wrote, she felt small again.

Eli ended up ordering a really expensive plate of lasagna and a sort of expensive bottle of wine. She was fine with that though, the wine, because with him around, she sort of felt like she needed a drink.

"Tell me about _Stalker Angel_." She said finally after their orders had been taken. "And don't give me bullshit. Give me all the nitty-gritty, intimate things about it. I want to know where the idea stemmed all the way to how you dared to write an ending like that."

"The ending was easy." He said casually, breaking a piece of the complimentary bread and slathering it in an unnatural amount of butter. "The ending came first."

"It came _first_?" Clare asked, puzzled. She scribbled it down on her notepad "Your first thought was _hey, I should write a novel about a man who drinks the blood of the woman he loves_?"

Eli shifted awkwardly. "Something like that."

"Something like _what_?"

"Look, can we not talk about my book right now?"

Honestly, Eli had never had an interview before. Not for _Stalker Angel_, at least. In high school he'd been interviewed for the paper a few times, and one time he was interviewed at a crime scene, but nothing ever like this. He had never expected anything that he would write would get popular; especially not New York Times popular. His palms felt kind of sweaty and he was a little anxious, trying to keep it together for the sake of the girl in front of him that he was clearly giving a hard time. Her shoulders dropped, a seriously fed up pout on her lips. She'd finally thought they were getting somewhere.

"We are here to talk about your book, Casper."

"Can you at least not call me Casper?" Eli grumbled. "You know my name is Eli, so you could just call me that. I'm not all weird about people hearing my real name."

"I'm not _weird _about it," Clare defended, "I'm just in public, okay? And I'm on a business meeting. This sort of shit matters to me. Can you stop dicking around and talk to me about your book? You're driving me nuts."

Yeah, in more ways than one. She wished she wasn't seeing his sweaty, dreamy body from above her every time she closed her eyes. She tried to make a commitment for about a minute to refrain from blinking, but realized that this just made her look fucking psycho, and she was sure he already thought of her that way… or something like that.

Once their food had arrived, she felt a little more sane. She was able to stare at her Caesar salad instead of his bare, kind of muscular arms. She wished he was wearing a jacket.

"All right, _Stalker Angel. _My book. That thing I wrote. Um," Eli scratched his fork against his plate, trying to stall. "I came up with the general idea in high school, like ten years ago. I was twenty when I first started piecing together a plot, you know, that goes around the ending with Rachel's murder. Seventeen year old Eli was a little… dark."

"No kidding." Clare rolled her eyes, scribbling down his words. She didn't believe in tape recorders, even though it would save her half the time. "So twenty when you started to plan it. When did you eventually start writing it? I know you only released the book a year or so ago."

"Year and a half," Eli corrected. "I was twenty four then. I think I started chapter one when I was twenty one. Took me six months to finish writing it. Three months to find a good editor, and three _days _for the publishing company to tell me they loved it."

"There's still a missing year in there. Why wasn't the book published earlier?" Clare pressed. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Eli shrugged. He hated talking about this part of his little writer's journey. The fuck up. The big, big fuckup.

It was before Imogen, or at least before _Harlequin Enterprises_. Eli had made a stupid deal with some bullshit publishing company that had tried to steal his story. He'd fought for months and months in court; long, drawn out nights with eight or nine beers trying to figure out how to get out of the stupid mess he'd gotten himself into. People on online messaging boards (probably just Imogen with several accounts. She was notorious for that kind of shit) urged him to continue writing, to not stop until _Stalker Angel_ was published. He managed to use their kind words as motivation and push through it.

And then Imogen had come forward, out of the murky internet water, and offered to save him and his book.

He hated this part.

"There was a publishing problem." Was all he ever said about that missing year. "But that's unimportant, honestly."

"Well it is kind of important," Clare said midst scribbling.

"It's really not. All that matters is that my book is published and that you read it and you liked it."

"I'm asking you all of these questions, _Eli, _because I'm trying to be thorough. I work for the Times for Christ's sake. I can't just ask you simple, high school questions. I need to know all the dirt on your novel." She explained herself. Eli pinned his eyebrows together, letting out a small breath.

"Dirt?" He stammered.

Clare shook her head, feeling a little stupid for using the word. "Not dirt, sorry. I just need to know all there is to know about _Stalker Angel. _You understand that, right?"

"Yeah, I understand it. There just isn't that much to know… it's a book. It's a horror story thought up when I was young and messed up. I just couldn't let it go until I had it all written down on paper. Now it's a novel and people like it. There isn't some kind of story here. It's just my book."

She groaned, wondering if this interview could ever go in a normal direction. "I'll give you an easy question, how does that sound?" Eli shrugged, fidgeting around and playing with his pasta. "How'd you come up with the name."

"My mom thought of it. She knew I had been worried about what to call it, so when I let her read my final draft, she said _Stalker Angel _had been haunting her the whole novel. I didn't really get what that meant until she explained that Malcom had been practically stalking Rachel, hunting down her every move. But even though Malcom had some devilish qualities, he still could be perceived as an angel. She called Malcom her stalker angel." Eli looked around, feeling awkward explaining that whole process. "I don't know. It made sense when she said it."

"It makes sense." Clare wrote some things down. "What do you mean you were young and messed up?"

"What?"

She pointed to her notepad. "Just before you talked about the name. You said you thought up the story when you were young and messed up. Messed up how?"

"I uh," He hated talking about this. He never liked explaining this sort of thing. Eli never even talked about it on his old blog, only mentioning it as a demon in some of his poetry. He took a big bite of lasagna, talking with his mouth full as he told her. "I had bipolar disorder. I don't have to take meds for it anymore," he swallowed, "so I like to think that I've overcome it. But it still comes around now and then to fuck me over. I was really manic in high school. I didn't have a lot of friends."

"Do you have a lot of friends now?" She asked.

Eli blinked, staring straight at her. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It was just a question, Eli. Don't get all defensive."

"I wasn't going to get defensive, _Clare, _it just doesn't make sense why you'd ask that." He paused, pursing his lips. "But for your information, yeah, I have friends."

Clare hummed, writing that down as well. Leaning over the table slightly, Eli tried to peak at her chicken-scratched notes.

"Why are you asking such irrelevant questions? That really doesn't matter. A lot of this doesn't matter." Eli pointed out. He tried to reach across the table for her notes, but she quickly snatched them up in her hands.

"Maybe it's because I'm an in depth journalist."

"Maybe it's because you're uptight." He answered casually. She dropped her fork, kind of harshly against her plate, it clambering slightly.

"I am _not _uptight." She countered.

"Yeah, you are." Eli's lips curled into a smirk, watching her get all riled up at his comment. "You're uptight as hell."

_She gasped, having to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out. He felt so good. He was so big and so good and she was so drunk. She was so drunk but this was so consensual. _

_ "Holy hell." He breathed between his teeth. "Fuck, Hastings. Fuck. Fuck you are so tight."_

She hadn't had sex in eight months, unfortunately.

She'd somehow convinced herself ever since Declan's first advance that she was "saving herself" for the moment they'd finally decided to do it. Of course he hadn't been able to experience how warm and snug and all the weird things Eli Goldsworthy was able to experience, but maybe that was a good thing.

"You know I could leave, right?" Clare said sternly. "I could just get up and write a shitty review for your book. You've been an absolute ass this entire interview, maybe you deserve it."

Shaking his head, Eli laughed. He placed his fork down on the plate. "You won't do that." He said confidently. "The thing is, Penny-Clare, you don't _really _think I'm an ass. I've been watching you this entire lunch. You think you're annoyed with me, but you're actually intrigued. You keep telling yourself that the faster you get this interview done, you can get right back to New York and you never have to think about the writer you fucked last night, but deep down you want to get to know me. You want me to take you around Toronto and invite you back to my apartment so you can learn all the dark secrets that the writer of the fucked up novel _Stalker Angel_ has." He clicked his tongue. "Don't lie to yourself anymore, Clare."

Kind of speechless, somehow she was able to utter out a: "Fuck you."

He'd been right, which freaked her out. She wanted to get angry and flustered and then for some reason she wanted to go right back to that apartment he was talking about and have the angriest sex she'd ever had in her life. "You're wrong. You're reading me too much." She managed to say. "It was a one night stand, Eli. I was supposed to never see you again."

"But you did see me again, and that means something. You don't want it to, but it does."

Clare blinked. He went on.

"There has to be some reason why you ended up fucking the guy you were supposed to interview. It can't just be some crazy coincidence." Eli paused, searching for the right way to put what he wanted to say. "Do you believe in God?"

"Sort of, yes." Clare nodded. "I used to more when I was a child."

"Well, I don't. But some people would say this could be a sign from a higher power, or whatever. Fate? We weren't just a one night stand; there's something more, buried underneath the surface." He could tell he was getting through to her by the way her usually stuck up expression was softer. "How much longer do you have in Toronto?"

"My plane leaves tomorrow at one." She answered. Clare was trying to be careful. She knew that if she continued to let her guard down that she would do something she wasn't particularly proud of. But essentially, that was something she wanted to do.

"So spend the rest of your time with me. It'll be easier to write a review once you've had the time to get to know me, too."

That made sense. She wished that it didn't make sense, and that she could tell him to fuck off and he would be out of her life already, but it just _did _make sense. He was still around, the sarcastic, kind of strange guy from the night before… that had to mean something, even if it was something miniscule. And she _would_ be able to write a much better review after getting to know him a little bit and not just as the asshole who can write a fucking amazing horror story.

"All right." Clare gave in, breathing sharp. "But last night was a one night stand, so don't expect us to be sleeping together again tonight."

He couldn't tell if she was kidding, but he laughed anyway. "Fine with me, Edward-stings. I'm fine without sex."


End file.
